All That Is Practical
by morchaint
Summary: What appears to be a boring day in Minas Tirith leads Faramir in a search to find something to do. There are people in the library, there is a brother, there is a father, and there is an odd old man with a large pointy hat that likes to laugh at him.
1. Chapter 1

**Faramir, All That Is Practical**

It is very irritating when adults chastise me for something that is entirely no fault of my own. At times, I feel that they blame me simply because I am small. I confronted Lerin, the librarian, about this several weeks ago. He laughed, pat my head, and assured me that it was not true. It is understandable why they blame Boromir, though. After all, according to Lerin, he is currently at the stage where an invective in every sentence is a normality. Personally, I am finding it to be pointless and annoying. Denethor, as can be read from his tone of voice, apparently agrees.

I listen with vague annoyance as Líriel continues accusing me of acts that I have not perpetrated. The absence of various sweets from the kitchen is not my doing. Meanwhile, Aerdith comes along to my rescue. Aerdith has much more sense than that witch. She is much more fair (and in my opinion, intelligent). Líriel does not seem to understand the nature of children at all. Many children, upon committing any wrongful acts will, upon entrance of an elder, run away from the scene of the crime or get caught red-handed. With the very inconsiderate action of the former, innocent bystanders, like me, must suffer for their crimes. Boromir finds himself in situations that are similar to mine often. However, in his case, he most likely was guilty. But I, being the obedient child that I am, am blamed for no reason. Boromir, fully understanding the laws and politics that govern the world of children, says that it is my fault for being such an easy target of the unfair workings of others. I respond by saying that I did not ask to be small and hence, an easy target. It is, loathe am I to admit, somewhat my fault for being timid (but it is in my nature to be timid, so therefore, I, as a person, am not to blame). The both of us then continue in a battle of wills. He would ultimately tire of such debates and I would claim the victory.

"What strange occurrence has happened here so that the little Lord Faramir must be on the receiving end of such harsh rebukes?" Aerdith asks. In my mind, I know that salvation is near. Aerdith, I hear, used to care for the children of the servants when she was younger with a strong and fair hand. She comprehends the inner workings of a child's mind. I pray that my trust in her is not unfounded.

"The little brat stole some of the ginger candy I had here on the counter," Líriel explains. I wonder if there is a hint of doubt in her eyes. When some of Boromir's friends are arguing or bullying some poor socially awkward boy, they say that they are positive about such and whatnot with power and confidence resulting from a strong ego. But when confronted by the higher authorities, they become quiet and shy and they look down at their feet –lacking the confidence they had before. I am not sure if it is the same with adults.

"Faramir, did you eat or take the candies?" Aerdith asks in a firm voice that's almost enough to rival my father's.

"No, ma'am," Líriel glares at me and pouts. How childish.

Aerdith bends down so she is at my level and knowing what she is about to do, I give a little puff of air so she can smell. Of course, my breath smells nothing like ginger at all. My breath is not sweet and is, in fact, not very pleasant smelling. Now that Aerdith knows that I am innocent, I make my hurried escape from the kitchen.

* * *

Boredom is a state that I do not enjoy being in. But bored I am, and unfortunately, it is a state that I find myself in often. Boromir is typically the solution to my boredom. But he is currently at arms practice and he will not be available for a while. He and some of the other boys will go off and play after. Meaning that they practice out of class, which means extra work, and Boromir is not known to approve of extra work. My brother finds something thrilling about weapons and battle. Sometimes, I wish someone would explain comprehensibly the thrill of athletic prowess because that is something beyond my understanding. It is painful and sore –where is the fun in that?

I prefer history lessons to arms lessons and practice. Reading and listening does not cause physical pain or stress. But Boromir prefers exercising the body rather than the mind. I figure that physical exertion and mental exertion both cause stress, it just depends which type you prefer. My thought process goes along like so –physical stress, like the pain and soreness of muscles, can last days. Injuries, self-induced or otherwise, can last even longer. Mental stress, in Boromir's case-in the form of headaches and frustration, only lasts however long the lesson was. Two hours of stress, I think, is much more preferable to days of pain. I think that he thinks that I think too much. Once, when I was bored (not unlike the way I am now), I told Merdith about my dilemma. She looked at me and said that exercising the body and mind are both important. I promptly agreed with her and pursued my point in saying that it is much more preferable to think than it is to sweat. Merdith had sighed and fed me a slice of something sweet and I jumped down off the stool and walked away with my prize. As I was leaving, I heard her mutter something about the twisted directness that children can have. I also heard her say abomination. After talking to my father about my dilemma and the incident with Merdith, he told me that different people prefer different things. Boromir liked athletics and I liked learning and that it is something that I should just accept. He paused as if he was going to add, and then stopped talking. I directed the conversation towards the incident and I asked him what it could mean. In his fashion, he told me that I should leave Merdith alone and not bother her with my petty problems because she found them irritating. He also told me that some old sayings say that sometimes children notice and observe things that adults do not. Apparently, Merdith believes that I do not relate to the proverbial saying. Denethor allowed me to conclude that I, therefore, was the abomination. I found Merdith's observation quite unfair.

Upon pondering these things, I realize that I truly am extremely bored. When one finds himself with nothing to do, there are essentially several options. First, one can remain with nothing to do and wander and ponder aimlessly. Second, one can sleep and hopefully wake up and have something to do. Third, one can actually find something to do. The first and second options are not appealing at the moment. Therefore, my solution lies in the third.

Soldiers practice in several different areas. The largest area is, naturally, the central practice ground located outside of the armory. It is very large and circular with grassy areas, stone tiled areas, dirt areas, rest areas, and shady areas. There is also a wall that partially surrounds it. It is not a very high wall and sometimes the soldiers sit on it and watch the others spar. Currently, I am sitting on the wall thanks to a kind soul with a large, scruffy beard who lifted me and sat me on top of it.

Normally, I do not watch the soldiers practice. I had considered going to the library, watching clouds, or coming here to the practice grounds. My entire morning consisted of dawdling in the library and my eyes needed a rest. I had wandered into the gardens, looked at the sky and figured that it was pointless to watch clouds on a cloudless day. So, I find myself here on the wall. Boromir and his group of rambunctious friends are practicing (or playing) at the opposite end. From my vantage point (which is very clear), it would appear that two boys are wrestling while the others are caught between watching the soldiers or their friends. I think most of them, like my brother, are watching the soldiers.

There can only be so much interest in watching two men bang sharp pieces of metal in a fight. It looks dangerous and dirty.

Boromir's group is now making loud noises and gestures and I realize that they are currently cheering. Looking around me, I notice scruffy beard and his group are also cheering in the shade. In fact, most of the soldiers are cheering and all are looking at one point. Two men are in the center of the grounds and it wasn't difficult to observe that one of them must be a hero of sorts. I watch them circle each other and one of the men lunges forward. The attack is blocked and more cheers arise from the audience. I still have no idea which is the hero. Their swords glint in the sunlight and I have to shield my eyes from the glare. From the recesses of my mind, I recall the poems of heroes long past. I wonder if the minstrels or whoever composed those poems have ever been in a predicament such as mine. Even if they have suffered this, I think they would still write of swords glinting in the sunshine with as much majesty and grandeur as there is.

The clinging of blades ceases and a great cheer arises. It is very loud and the noise makes me dizzy and my ears hurt. I feel disappointed about missing most of the fight, but I now look to see who the winner was. The two men are thronged by a large group and I cannot see a thing. I find myself thinking that today is not a great day. Bells are ringing, signaling the time for the afternoon meal. The soldiers leave the practice grounds, including scruffy beard. Boromir and his friends have also left with their arms master. Apparently when the practice grounds are empty, they become deserted. It also proved to me that soldiers move in packs even when they are not on duty. This is a problem for me, as I realize that I am now in a new predicament. Scruffy beard had not taken into his calculations my shortness. A full grown man could jump off the wall with relative ease since his feet are not that far from the ground. However, with my height, it is a relative distance to jump. All of my complaints simply lead to a simple matter. I cannot get down from the wall.

* * *

After dangling upon the wall for I do not know how long, a guard saw me and came to my rescue. He came up to me and laughed, but he wasn't laughing at me, he was laughing at my situation, I think.

"So, you got yourself up, and now you can't get yourself down, eh?" he had said with a smirk.

"Yes," was my timid reply. Secretly I was praying he would simply set my feet safely upon the ground and leave me alone. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently, it was.

"How did you get yourself up?" he asks, arms folded across his chest.

I began to wonder if I should pour out the troubles of my day in an attempt to bore him into setting me down. But it was still a bit early in the conversation for such desperate measures.

"Well, you see, I came here thinking to watch the soldiers practice. Then scruffy beard saw me and set me on this wall."

"Scruffy beard?" there was a quizzical expression on the soldier's face.

"Why, yes." I had been calling scruffy beard scruffy beard in my head that I hadn't considered calling him anything else. Before he could add to his question, I decide to continue. "Well, he put me here and apparently forgot to bring me down. Therefore, I have been here for… a very long time."

"Why did you not hop down?" I officially decided then and there that unobservant people irritate me.

"If the wall were shorter or if I were several years older, I would have. But the wall remains as it was and I am not getting older fast enough."

"Oh." At that, he finally lifted me up and my feet were placed safely upon the ground. I bid the soldier a good-bye and ran as far as my short excuse for legs could carry me.

My stomach eventually brought me to the kitchens where I found a basket of bread, some cheese, honey, and butter. All this food most likely was not there waiting for me, but I figured a bit would not be missed. It is not as if I had Boromir's stomach. The bread was not soft, but I was too happy with the honey and butter to care.

I finished my small meal before I reached the library. After the wall incident, I was less inclined to want to watch the soldiers. The fact that it was very warm outside did not help to convince me to return to the practice fields.

When I entered the library, I saw Lerin. I was not in the mood to do long-term reading and conversations with Lerin proved interesting for the most part. Unfortunately, he was absorbed in his writing at the moment and was completely oblivious to the world. But I was bored and busy work never stopped me.

(To Be Continued)


	2. Chapter 2

**All That Is Practical**

Part 2

Lerin completely ignored me. Apparently long reports about absolutely nothing important is more interesting than an enlightening conversation with me. It suffices to say that my plans were forced to change and I left with hurt pride. As such, my journey to find the cure to my boredom of this particular day continued. Though reading is enjoyable, when I am not in the mood, it can be dull. Dullness is not something I wish to associate with my favorite past time.

The sky outside is still cloudless. Boromir's whereabouts are currently unknown to me. Several options of how to amuse myself came to mind –all of them involved counting. That is why I am now playing a solitary game of count the shelves in the library. It is not a very fun game –I am so far at forty-six. The shelves run in rows, and are actually ten smaller shelves placed side by side and back to back. So, the number of shelves there are can be calculated mathematically, but that would not take long and I would simply become bored again. Of course, counting them is not proving to be exciting –it is similar to the instance when I decided to count the amount of marble tiles in the throne room when no one was there. I make a mental note that next time, I will count the number of steps in the library. All of these things are absolutely pointless and serve no purpose.

I was finishing at sixty when I noticed a light near the tables. There were not many people that ventured this far into the library. The people that do normally find the books they need and bring them to the front, where there is an adequate amount of light to read and enough people so you do not feel alone. It can also be a bit uncomfortable in the deeper sections of the library because many of the older books are located here and have to be preserved. As such, I decided to investigate. When I came closer to the tables, I saw piles of books and parchment and a pointy hat sitting on top of one stack. Smoke rises from behind one of the piles. Parchment scatters the floor and I see that there are more stacks of books surrounding the table. Most of the light seems to be coming from something on top of a long, wooden staff. It is quite an odd sight.

A sudden "harrumph," magnified with small echoes, causes me to jump a little. I move closer and I see that there is an old man with his face currently buried in a book. The only visible part of him is his long, white hair and his long, white beard. I come out from behind the shelves and he seems to finally notice me when I step closer.

"Humph, it is not polite to disturb a busy old man engrossed in his work, especially when said work is long, tedious and dull. It is even ruder to sneak up on him. And why are you hiding behind the shelves? What is a child such as you doing in these parts of the library anyways? "

I freeze in shock. When I finally recover, I reply "well, I did not know you were there, the library is quite deserted, and I spend a lot of my free time in the library."

"Free time? Is that so…" he laughs and as I stare in utter bafflement an unbidden "eh?" escapes from my lips. This, apparently, only serves to make him laugh harder. So I wait for him to finish laughing. I notice that the smoke is coming from a strange-looking object that he is holding in his right hand.

"Come closer, what is your name?" he asks. Although I cannot see his eyes clearly, I am certain that they are twinkling.

"Faramir, and may I ask your name?"

The old man gives a sigh, "so polite, so polite. Very well, I will tell you if you wish it." He pauses for a moment before saying, "Many are my names in many countries. Mithrandir among the Elves, Tharkûn to the Dwarves; Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incánus, in the North Gandalf; to the East I go not."

The nannies that took care of me always said that if I met someone that acted oddly, I should leave as quickly as possible –unless they or my father was around, or if it was a member of the court. Father had said that they had spoken wisely and I should listen to what they tell me. Judging by the tattered gray old robes this man was wearing, I figured he was no one of any importance, and even if I offended him I would not be in any trouble. His behavior warranted suspicion and anyone with that many names was definitely odd. I make to leave the area when he calls out, "so you are Denethor's second, hmm?"

It is not likely that any one would attempt to hurt me in a library, to my knowledge, since there were some people on the other side, and I figured that I was a safe running distance away -so I answer "yes." When there is nothing in reply, I flee from that section of the library.

* * *

Father is normally busy at this time, so I am surprised to see him in our family suite playing solitary chess. I am still small and young enough to climb into his lap without anyone saying anything, and I do just that. Ever since Mother passed away, I tended to things like this more than I used to and Father does not seem to mind. Boromir says that he is too old to do such childish things.

I tried playing chess once and I was not very good at it. Father says that if I observe, I will learn, and my ability to play chess will improve. If I practice, I will gain experience. But I do not want to play, so I watch his game, and I know that he is trying to teach me. There is a glass of wine next to him and I pick it up to sniff it. I do not understand why the adults like it so much –it tastes weird and it burns when it goes down my throat. Father tells me that it is a developed taste.

Our family can be pretty silent since Mother left, except for Boromir and me, he likes to talk and I like to talk, so I am normally the one that responds to his stories. When neither of us can find anything to say –the family discussion turns quiet, and that happens sometimes. But Father does not seem to mind.

"Faramir."

"Hmm?" I notice that the game is not finished.

"It is almost time for supper." It is getting darker as the sun sets and Father sets me down on the floor and goes to light some candles.

"Oh."

"I invited a guest to supper today," he says after lighting a second candle.

"Who? Is it someone I know?"

"No, but I do think that you will find him interesting," his back is now turned to me. "You do not need to change your clothes; it is not a formal dinner. Just be prepared when the bells ring."

"I will." With that, I leave.

The sunset is always a pretty sight and when I am doing nothing at that moment, I like to go to one of the balconies near the Steward's personal dining room. Because I am too short to peer over the top of the railing, I sit cross-legged down on the balcony and look over Minas Tirith through the space in between the bars of stone. Sometimes I just lay down to stare at the sky, but the floor is hard and it hurts my back when I lay there for too long.

Another thing that I love about sunset is the weather. It gets cooler and the air becomes… more crisp and fresh. I like that feeling.

I watch as the sky goes from pink to a violet color. It is hard to describe the sunset because there are so many colors at once –yellow, blue, orange, pink, and violet. The bells begin to toll –a deep, resonating sound that can be heard through the city. It is a nice sound when I am far away from the bells, but the closer I am to them, the more it hurts my ears. From where I am now, the bells are painfully close and I head inside right away. As I enter the dining room I gasp, because there stands the old man with many names.

There is an awkward silence for a while. Then, to my great joy, Boromir enters. My elder brother turns and greets old-man-with-many-names saying, "you must be our father's guest. Hello, I am Boromir and this is my brother Faramir." He bows a little and I give one too. Then it occurs to me that my brother is acting very much like an adult –not like the Boromir I knew. But it was probably only for the moment. We sit at the table and Boromir and Mithrandir, as Boromir calls him, make small talk, leaving me to watch in confusion.

Denethor enters and we all rise. When we are seated again, the servants bring in the meal. I focus on my food for most of supper because the topic of conversation is one that I do not understand. But that is alright, because the food is delicious. I love roast chicken. The other side dishes were all some of my favorites too.

When the meal was finished, Denethor and Mithrandir continue to talk while Boromir and I remained silent. Boromir is refraining from childish acts at the table. I poke at whatever is left of my meal and hide in the excuse of my youth. That is, until Denethor says, "I am sure that Faramir will be glad to be your aid as you make your search through the library."

I quickly glance up to shift between looking at my father and Mithrandir. Gray beard begins to laugh; I do not know what is so funny.

Boromir is giving me a smug smile. It disappears, however, with Denethor's next words –"Boromir will be accompanying me in a meeting for most of the day tomorrow."

My brother visibly blanches and I smile and Mithrandir chuckles. My job has suddenly become much easier and the desert before me has regained its charm.

* * *

"Lerin is the librarian, if you are looking for something, then why do you not ask him?" it was a reasonable question.

"Any fool would know that," he says in an irritated manner. "It has apparently occurred to you that I would just blindly wander into this vast collection of books without inquiring as to how the library is divided. I have already asked him. He pointed out which sections I might consider searching in, but even he does not know what I am looking for. I expect much of the information I seek is not collected in a book or volume, meaning that we will be searching through sheets of parchment."

"Oh," after a moment I continue, "what are we looking for?"

"I will be looking for it and you will serve as my scribe. If I need anything, like a cup of water, you will go and fetch it, if I need more parchment you will go to the front and retrieve it. In fact, if I need anything done at all, you may count on performing it."

Denethor has assigned me to be this old man's scribe, errand runner, and servant. It is an indescribable feeling.

What feels like hours later, Mithrandir finally calls for a break. My eyes feel like they will pop out from my head and I do not think that I have retained the ability to think straight. In some way, I feel that I am thinking in numbers. Copying tax and trade reports will do that to a person. My fingers are stiff and my nose feels funny.

Mithrandir leans back in his chair and looks at me. Feeling that this is an awkward moment I tell him, "My history teacher says that it is bad to that."

"It is bad to do what?" he asks.

"It is bad to lean back in your chair," I explain. "You might fall and hurt yourself."

"Bah, what does your teacher know? I have leaned in plenty of chairs and I have not fallen and I do believe that I am old enough to make my own decisions."

"Denethor says it is bad posture."

He moves his head left and then right as if he is looking for something. "You and I are the only ones here. The only person that will see my poor posture is you, and you seem to know that it is bad habit. At least you know not to do it." There is a hint of finality in his tone, but I want to talk.

"But why risk falling? It is painful and embarrassing."

"What is life without risk?" his chair now rests on four legs as he looks at me.

"A good life," I answer. I look at him, and he looks at me. Then he gives that laugh again. I decide to say nothing. Our conversation ends there.

I continue to copy some more information –random tidbits here and there until Lerin comes to tell us that it is now time for the afternoon meal.

"Faramir." I look up and Mithrandir continues, "have you ever spent time down in the lower levels?"

"No."

"Hmm," he says and then there is a long silence. "Come with me." He grabs me by the hand and quite literally drags me along with him.

(To Be Continued)

Quote taken from "The Two Towers" page 655

Author's Note: As of Sunday night I have had fifty-three hits and one review. Not bad, not bad. Either my writing is so terrible it doesn't deserve a comment, it is so good that there is nothing to say and no room for improvement(…highly, highly doubtful), or it is so average that there's nothing to say (which doesn't make sense). Or maybe it's because this piece is too short… the writing portion of my brain is finally getting the exercise it needs.

Constructive criticism is my friend. I am sure that the world is populated with smart people with opinions and something to say.


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